


he was my best friend

by mouseandkeys



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, I had to write this so I could have some closure, I'm writing this so I can know peace, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, M/M, Post-Pennywise (IT), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseandkeys/pseuds/mouseandkeys
Summary: Eddie watches Richie, and Richie finds the courage to tell Eddie the truth.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 87





	he was my best friend

**Author's Note:**

> If the Losers calling Pennywise names was enough to kill IT, I argue that Eddie saying "this kills monsters if you believe it does" and impaling IT would have been enough too.  
> Eddie Kaspbrak killed IT and lived to go to the Quarry with the rest of the Losers Club. This is canon now (because I believe it is).
> 
> Title inspired by song The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out To Get Us by Sufjan Stevens

The water is cold at the Quarry, but he hardly even notices it. He’s distracted, has been this whole time. The others have noticed, and will occasionally catch another of their group watching him with unhidden concern. He’s not himself. No matter how easy it would be to crack a joke now, to say _oh, finally, something's shut Trashmouth up_ , that wouldn’t feel right, not in this moment. Not there at the Quarry, together in their diminished number, with loss still so fresh in their throats. Not there at the Quarry, where there was only love for one another, Richie Tozier included.

But he’s not himself.

He’s quiet.

Eddie looks at him and, glancing away, sees Beverly doing the same. There’d been a joke between them all, back when they were kids— which feels so recent in this town, more recent than the last twenty-seven years— that Richie never thought about anything, that he had no filter at all and would say anything. Maybe that had been partly true, but Eddie had never really believed it. He’d known better, and he’s remembering that feeling now, all these years later. Remembering how Richie would disappear behind his eyes and get lost there for a while. Eddie is remembering watching Richie like that, how he’d developed a sixth sense for it, how he’d always notice when Richie had— miraculously— been quiet for a while, how he’d missed the opportunity for a punchline there. Eddie would turn, would look, would see Richie staring off into space, his eyes serious behind his glasses. Eddie would always watch him like that for as long as he could without risking being caught.

He’s like that now, too. Eddie had been surprised when he saw Richie at the Jade Orient, had been absurdly surprised to see that Richie Tozier was not the same skinny, awkward pre-teen he’d been when they’d known each other before. It had been like that with the others, too, but not so much. Now, up to his neck in Quarry water (against his better judgement), the surprise is fading. He’s just the same. His eyes have that faraway look, and he’s thinking something through, Eddie can tell. He hasn’t lost that sixth sense.

The part of him that’s still thirteen years old wants to interrupt him, to shake him out of it, to pull him back to the moment and demand some attention. If he weren’t scared he’d get more water in his stab wound, he might try to jump onto Richie's shoulders like old times, try to push his head underwater. Make him laugh and snap out of it, and inevitably end up being pulled under, too.

He doesn’t think he’d mind it that much, no matter how loudly he’d complain.

They’re both just the same.

Beverley comes near, leans her shoulder against Richie’s and asks, quiet enough that the others might not have heard if they weren’t all so aware of Richie just then, “You okay, Rich?”

He looks at her, and Eddie, still watching him, kind of wishes he’d been the one to break Richie out of it. He looks for distraction and finds it, watching Bill and Mike splashing each other. Eddie sees he’s not the only one feeling thirteen again. Something about home. Something about Derry. Something about the Losers.

Richie’s eyes are big behind his glasses. Beverley smiles in recognition of him. It’s still like some kind of discovery every time she sees any of them. Like, realising who they are, and wondering how she could have ever forgotten. He blinks at her, sees her too, smiles for just the same reason, and for another too. She survived It. Against all the odds, she survived It— _twice_.

Everything he saw, up there in the deadlights, didn’t happen— and now he's looking at her like this, smiling and truly free for the first time in twenty-seven years. There’s so much love in his heart, and so much gratitude too. But everything he saw… He can’t forget any of it. In some ways, it feels just as real to him as this moment does. He can practically see the blood on his glasses, the crack in the lens, and his smile goes away.

“Bev,” He says finally, because he has to say something, and she’s probably the only one who would really understand. “When you were… when we were kids… You saw bad endings, right? You saw what could happen?”

She’d already known he’d ask her. He can see that in the way she responds, the way her smile doesn’t falter. She leans her shoulder into his again, hooks their arms together under the water and holds his hand. “Yeah, Rich. It didn’t happen though, did it? We won.”

Richie looks away. “Tell that to Stan.” He says after a moment.

Beverley had known he’d say that, too. “I know. I wish I could change it. I wish he was here.” She squeezes his hand. “We can’t, though. We can’t do any more than we’ve done.”

Richie wipes at his eyes, pushing his glasses up. “We nearly lost Eddie.” He says, with such certainty Beverley has to glance over at Eddie, has to check he's still there. “It was so real, in the deadlights… Right after he killed It, he was with me. He saved me, and he was with me. And then he was dead and…”

“Richie,” Beverley says, looking closely at his face. “He’s right over there.”

“I know.” Richie says, rubs at his eyes again. “I mean, I think I know. It just feels so… It’s like I’m right there still. Like I’m living all the endings at the same time.” He looks at Eddie now, catches Eddie looking his way. Eddie’s quick to look away, to pretend he’d been watching Mike and Bill the whole time, and Richie can’t help smiling. Just like old times. It feels so fresh to him. Eddie, smaller but just the same, who seemed to be always looking away, always pretending he didn’t care, but there’d be that same tell-tale flush, high on his cheeks, to give him away.

Beverley’s smiling again when Richie turns his attention back to her. He rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

She laughs. “I didn’t say anything!”

Richie looks at Eddie again. It’s just the thing to calm his mind and make the world around him solid again. Eddie, his hair wet and his eyes bright as he launches into an argument with Ben about the cleanliness of the water. There’s that image of Eddie in his head, eyes dull in death, having died halfway through a train of thought. He can hear it in his ears, just the same as he can hear Eddie now, bickering in that familiar tone. _Richie… Don’t call me Eds… You know I…I…_

He’s working to replace that image, replace it with this one.

“You gonna tell him?” Beverley asks, and Richie turns, stares. She smiles. It’s so loving. Like the way his mother used to smile at him, but with less suffixes, somehow. Richie didn’t have to do anything special for Beverley to love him unconditionally like this. Never had to be on his best behaviour to get that smile. He loves her so much, the emotion swallows him just like before. The unmerited grief, the thought bouncing around his head of _what would I have done if we’d lost you?_

“You know?” He asks. No point in denying it.

“Of course I know. We all know. It’s obvious.” She’s grinning at him. She lets go of his hand, shoves her shoulder into his again, with more force this time. “You’re an open book, Richie Tozier. Only one person you gotta tell.”

He’s smiling too, can’t help it around her. “I don’t know. Things are good. Not perfect. Couldn’t be without Stanley. But good. Better than we could have expected. He’s alive. That’s enough.”

She looks away from him, over at Eddie. “But it could be better, Rich. I think you should tell him.”

Richie looks at Eddie again. He’s very determinedly looking in the opposite direction, and his cheeks are red, and Richie snorts. He _absolutely_ knows he and Beverley are watching. “I’ll think about it.”

Beverley kisses his cheek, looks him square in the eyes. “Don’t think too hard, Rich. The best things are easy.”

Richie grins, “Hey, I don’t wanna know the sordid details of your _thing_ with Ben!”

Beverley laughs, shoves him again, and swims, like a compass finding north, in the direction of Ben Hanscom, who has very clearly been waiting for her. Richie looks away as Beverley reaches him. He closes his eyes, rubs at his temples, looks directly at the sun, waits for something to happen, for something to drag him out of his head and plant him firmly in the present.

Eddie is at his side, as if on cue. He smiles, the effect more awkward than intended. “So…” Eddie says. He’s trying to think of a casual way to ask why he and Beverly had been looking at him. He gives up. “What were you and Bev talking about?”

Richie does this half-laugh thing, looks like he’s enjoying himself. It’s sort of a relief, as much as Eddie wishes it weren’t at his own expense. “Oh, we were just wishing we had a risk analyst here to tell us what kind of infections we’re getting from this water.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “A lot, asshole.”

Richie goes quiet and Eddie knows he’s lost him again. He looks, sees the way he’s zoned out.

“What’s going on in there, Rich?” He asks finally.

Richie looks at him, forces a smile, “What d’you mean, Eds?”

Eddie can’t help himself. “Don’t call me Eds. You know I—“ He stops. Richie kind of looks like he’s about to throw up. “Richie? Are you okay?”

Richie looks away, tries to laugh. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Just…” He stops.

“What?” Eddie asks. He feels like a kid again— desperate to know what’s going through that head, desperate for Richie not to know how badly he wants to know. Richie isn’t talking. “You know, you used to be my best friend.” He feels stupid. It’s a stupid thing to say. He’s forty, for God’s sake. “Maybe you haven’t remembered that yet, but you were, and I don’t think that’s ever gonna go away for any of us, so you can tell me.”

Richie smiles. “I thought Bill was your best friend.”

Eddie glances at Bill. “I mean. I guess he kind of was, too. But it was different with you.”

Richie looks at him sharply, Eddie sees it in his peripheral, and he has the uncomfortable feeling that maybe he gave too much away just then. He deliberately doesn’t look back at Richie. After a moment, Richie speaks. “It was different, wasn’t it?”

Eddie nods, still doesn’t look at him.

“Eddie.” There’s something new in his voice now. Something decided. Eddie has to look, can’t help it. “I’m gay. And I think I was in love you when we were kids. And, like, I’m not saying I’m in love you right now, like that, but, also, I think I kind of am? 'Cause I kind of feel like the last twenty-seven years didn’t count for shit and maybe nothing has ever been as real for me as me and you. I know you’re married, to a woman, but I just… After what I saw in the deadlights… I feel like I have to tell you. Now.” He takes a breath.

Eddie is staring. Richie is wondering how much of _that_ he can sell as a joke.

Whatever happens, Richie can’t really regret it. Not when Eddie’s looking at him with those enormous brown eyes, his eyebrows practically taking flight, his mouth open like he’s about to tell him to fuck off. It’s a world away from Eddie in the deadlights, whose face was so passive, so _gone_.

He doesn’t tell him to fuck off. He catches Richie by the neck with his good hand, yanks him down with more force than necessary, and kisses him. It’s the only kind of first kiss they ever could have had— long over due, making up for all that lost time with a clash of teeth, a bump of noses.

Richie doesn’t remember it, afterwards, when he tries to think back. He hadn’t been in his head, but in his hands— his hands going immediately, as if on instinct, to Eddie’s neck, holding his head right there, leaning further into it. It lasted long enough for them both to be breathless as they drew back. Richie’s hands are still there, framing Eddie’s face, and Eddie isn’t pulling back, and his eyes are _so bright_.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can still see the blood on his glasses, the crack in the lens, but it’s fading more and more with every second he spends looking at Eddie and his bright, bright eyes.

Richie’s grinning. He wants to kiss Eddie again but doesn’t think he’d be able to, not with this smile on his face. He tries anyway, and Eddie’s just the same, and they laugh against each other’s mouths.

There’s a chorus of cheers and whistles behind them, and Richie _can’t stop smiling_.


End file.
